Many thanks, Viscount. These are favors that are never forgotten.... I
repeat my gratitude."

And he saluted, like a true noble, walking off proudly erect, the same
as in the most smiling days of his opulence.

* * *

With his fur coat open, displaying his immaculate shirt bosom, Count de
Sagreda promenades along the boulevard. The crowds are issuing from the
theatres; the women are crossing from one sidewalk to the other;
automobiles with lighted interiors roll by, affording a momentary
glimpse of plumes, jewels and white bosoms; the news-vendors shout their
wares; at the top of the buildings huge electrical advertisements blaze
forth and go out in rapid succession.

The Spanish grandee, the _hidalgo_, the descendant of the noble knights
of the _Cid_ and _Ruy Blas_, walks against the current, elbowing his way
through the crowd, desiring to hasten as fast as possible, without any
particular objective in view.

To contract debts!... Very well. Debts do not dishonor a nobleman. But
to receive alms?... In his hours of blackest thoughts he had never
trembled before the idea of incurring scorn through his ruin, of seeing
his friends desert him, of descending to the lowest depths, being lost
in the social substratum. But to arouse compassion....

The comedy was useless. The intimate friends who smiled at him in former
times had penetrated the secret of his poverty and had been moved by
pity to get together and take turns at giving him alms under the pretext
of gambling with him. And likewise his other friends, and even the
servants who bowed to him with their accustomed respect as he passed by,
were in the secret. And he, the poor dupe, was going about with his
lordly airs, stiff and solemn in his extinct grandeur, like the corpse
of the lengendary chieftain, which, after his death, was mounted on
horseback and sallied forth to win battles.

Farewell, Count de Sagreda! The heir of governors and viceroys can
become a nameless soldier in a legion of desperadoes and bandits; he can
begin life anew as an adventurer in virgin lands, killing that he may
live; he can even watch with impassive countenance the wreck of his name
and his family history, before the bench of a tribunal.... But to live
upon the compassion of his friends!...

Farewell forever, final illusions! The count has forgotten his
companion, who is waiting for him at a night restaurant. He does not
think of her; it is as if he never had seen her; as if she